Opioid Truths
by scratchedlines
Summary: Short backstory of a girl from Mordecai's life on Artemis


Angie had been his first. Dark seductive eyes and lips that hypnotized you when they moved. She could be talking about income taxes, and he'd still want to kiss her. She was the kind of girl you wouldn't expect to find on a place like Artemis, hanging around some arena where sweaty, leather-bound men took turns showing off their skills in a semi-Freudian fashion. It wasn't the kind of place he expected to feel his heart fall through the bottom of his stomach, either.

She'd sidled up to him after the ruckus he'd stirred up with his winning. Fists had flown every which way when they'd accused him of cheating, and a few had made good, solid connections with his face and sternum. He'd been nursing his still-bleeding nose when a sweet floral smell infiltrated his senses, the girl with skin like his and a red poppy tucked into her dark hair tugging on his elbow.

"_Para la nariz_…" A twitch of a smile at the corner of her mouth, she held up the delicate square fabric up to him, a white sateen handkerchief with the initials "A.R." stitched in one corner.

"… _estoy bien_." He waved her off, still heated from the earlier confrontation. But on his refusal, something twisted inside his chest, filling him with regret that he was choosing to push her away so easily. After all, it wasn't her fault he'd been punched to shit.

"Please. _Insisto_…"

Well, if she was insisting…

Stained fingers plucked it from between hers and dabbed at his nostrils, pulling it away to see the horrible red stains that tarnished the fine, woven-together threads. He felt a little bad that she was offering up something so nice for his broken nose.

"_Estuviste genial_. You're very good with a rifle."

"Gracias. Is this your first time at the arena?"

"Yes. I had to beg papa to take me along. Strange for a girl to have such a fascination, no?"

"Not at all." The goofy grin was spreading on his face much faster than he could wrangle it back in, before he made a bigger fool of himself in front of a pretty girl.

"Do you think… you could show me sometime? How to shoot, I mean."

Maybe things weren't so bad after all.

* * *

Every other night for a week, he'd meet the girl with the seductive smile and show her how to work a rifle. The first night had certainly been full of squeals from his "student", the rifle jerking against her shoulder with each shot. He would chuckle at her pout, however, whenever she downturned her collar to look at the quickly-growing bruise beneath her clothing. His age certainly encouraged him to take a look every now and again, to feel the stirring behind his navel that screamed all the things he should do to her here, on the shooting range and under the cover of night.

But she'd stolen out to be here, and she'd been adamant on working on her aim. Any chance to indulge himself would only lead to delays, and these little meetings of theirs would no longer take place.

Still, that didn't stop him from looking… and imagining.

"_Usted está mirando_…" She'd been staring back at him, watching the smile on his face grow ever larger with the unspeakable perverted thoughts running through his mind. So much so that he hadn't even noticed she'd stopped shooting.

"… _lo siento_. I was distracted, I mean, I was thinkin' about somethin' else."  
Telling her would probably drive her away, and that was the last thing he needed in a place that wasn't kind to its residents.

"We should probably call it a night, anyway. _Mi hombro me está matando_."

"You'll get used to it eventually. Or we can try something that doesn't have as much kick." He took the few steps over to her to wrest the gun from her hands, eject the empty cartridge onto the ground, and flick the safety on. The pained hiss drew his attention back to her as the soft skin of her shoulder was revealed once more, her slender fingers gingerly caressing the purple splotch against her brown skin.

"Hurts like a motherfucker, don't it?"

"… _si_. Like a… motherfucker." The swear had been whispered, her nose wrinkling in mischief that she'd managed it without a slap to her wrist.

"Put some ice on it when you get home." He pretended to examine it with gloved hands for a few seconds, drawing up the fabric to hide it again, when all he wanted to do was cast off the leather and feel her.

"… _si_."

"… do you have makeup if you need to cover it?"

"… _si_."

What he hadn't noticed were her hands getting ever closer to his face, her thumbs poised on the strap that held his goggles to his head, the warmth of them just on his ears.  
Panic filled him quickly and he jerked back away from her with a sharp inhale. Seeing her cheeks flush in response, he knew she had mistaken it for shyness on his part. Oh, how wrong she was. His secret - his pride - was something he still wasn't prepared to reveal to anyone just yet, not even the girl who was starting to worm her way into his every waking thought.

* * *

After that night of practice, when she'd almost discovered his secret, he was more wary about where her hands were at all times. It certainly made him more stand-offish, but he was more concerned with his pride than her hurt feelings. After all, she was here for practice, not some silly date. At least, that's what he was trying to convince himself was the real reason he no longer had lewd thoughts in seeing her dressed in dirty jeans and knee-high brown boots. She had made a mistake that first night, coming in her dress. She'd torn her hem in all the chaos of firing a rifle, sending her spinning on her heels to fall into the mud. He'd laughed, for a few seconds anyway, before helping her up. But the darn thing had been ruined, and she'd learned her lesson after that. He'd taken her advice on dressing more practical from now on.

The lessons continued for a month more until he really had nothing left to teach her. She was just as good as he was, those dark eyes certainly keen for spotting their targets. It had come to the end, and there was no more reason for these meetings.

That didn't mean the girl didn't have other plans in mind.

"So you'll come with me to purchase my first rifle, yes?"

"That depends. Are we going to be using that coupon for lunch afterwards?" He nudged his head in the direction of the piece of paper sticking out of her back pocket. A two-for-one deal. Knowing her, he'd likely be the one paying, especially with those earnings he'd won. She lightly smacked his arm, a little upset that he'd ruined her surprise, but could she really blame him? Nothing ever really got past the hunter's eyes.

"Is that a yes?"

"… it's not a no." Of course, he'd said yes, despite his predicament with his intestine. Still, he'd try to muster through just one meal. Suck it up and pretend like he was normal.

* * *

One thing led to another: rifle shopping, to lunch, and then dancing on her front porch in the hot noon day sun. Her family had a penchant for playing the Echo as loudly as they could when they were home, drowning themselves in the tunes and lyrics of whatever happened to be on that day. That had instilled a sense of rhythm in her, one he had never had the opportunity to gain.

"_Es facil. Mira_, put your hand here and just move your feet." She placed of his hands on her hips, which at first seemed safe, until she started swaying them to the beat, the curves rolling easily under his hands. He was stuff, unused to these kinds of movements, and the look on her face said as much.

"It's like you don't even want to try."

He really didn't, but saying as much would have definitely ruined things.

"_Paciencia_. It's more difficult than it looks." His mouth was pressed into a thin line as he tried to concentrate on the beat and make the movements seem more natural, feeling too self-conscious that anyone would come by and scrutinize him.

With the sun beating down on them, it didn't take long for both of them to give up the dance lessons for the shade. Most specifically, the shade of her room. He was hesitant at first, despite his urges screaming at him to be otherwise. How many boys his age could say they'd bedded someone as pretty and good with a rifle as Angie?

Casually throwing open the window to let in some cool air, she flopped onto the bed, gesturing for him to join her. It wasn't difficult to persuade him not to, and he settled in behind her, admiring the ridiculous poof of her dress swallowing up the rest of her legs. Oh, the things it was hiding…

* * *

How long they had laid on that bed, he didn't know; too distracted he had been by the sensation of his stomach working at the food he'd eaten. He'd done his best to try and get most of it down, pretending to be full to avoid finishing it all, when all he wanted to do was purge. A fool's attempt at trying to impress a girl he still knew little about, at the sake of his own discomfort.

The heat and their weak attempts at dancing had done enough to suck the energy from their bodies, the cool breeze enticing enough not to move from that spot. It was inevitable that one or the other - or both - would doze off eventually, wrapped together in the precarious position they had placed themselves into.

He wasn't sure what it was, but something had stirred him awake, the sun long gone and now replaced with the moon, just peeking in at the edge of the window. A single eye bearing witness to the disaster that was about to befall him.

Backlit by the moon was Angie, leaning over him with her arms framing either side of his head. Looking up at her, there was a twitch of surprise on her face, her eyes searching his for… something? that he wasn't sure he could give. It was only then he realized he was looking at her without his protective eyewear. She had learned his secret, and seen the reflective, cat-like whites he had kept hidden for so long.

"_Tramposo_…" It was a harsh whisper, but he heard it. "Liar." The single word was enough to send his mind reeling and twist his chest up into something awful and indescribable. He should have known better, known she would have played some kind of trick like this to gain his favour and learn what he had kept from her that first night. But he had put aside his instincts to allow her in, to trust himself to someone else and allow himself to be cared for.

And this was the reward for his efforts.

"Angie…"

"_Métetelo por el culo, mentiroso_. I don't want to hear it. Get out." Sitting up, she threw the goggles square at the middle of his chest, the hard pain temporary by comparison in watching her leave.

"Can you let me-"

"_Salir_!" Her weight shifted from the bed as she slipped on her shoes and threw the door open, waiting for him to depart with the tapping of her foot. Either she'd make him leave or give him a reason to. What else could he do but comply? Shoes in hand, he slipped the goggles back over his head, tucking the strap behind his hair, and readjusted them over his eyes. He was leaving with not very much pride left, but he would have what little he could salvage nonetheless.

"_Yo confiaba en ti_." Her voice was a hiss, filled with venom that he had never thought capable from a girl like her. She'd been nothing but kind and endearing on their first meeting, and it had taken but one thing to transform her compassion to vitriol.

"_Sí, lo sé. Hice lo que tenía que hacer_."

"_Hacer trampa_? No, that's never an option. Not for someone like you. I thought you were above that."

"…" He had nothing else to defend himself except a simple shrug of the shoulders and the slight tilt of his head in her direction.

"_… te ves hermosa con las amapolas en el pelo_…" Another shrug and he was gone.

* * *

He'd tried to keep it in for as long as he could, stumbling down the streets towards his home, but there was only so much his stomach could take. She'd sent him away, looking down on him like some worthless dog that wasn't worth her time. Those once cheerful eyes of hers held nothing but disgust for him when he left. What filled him was neither disgust nor guilt; it was simple, plain sick.  
Doubling over behind a bush, he purged his stomach contents onto the grass, retching himself dry until his stomach was empty. There was little around to hear or care about his vomit, leaving him to do so in relative peace. His eyes stung with each heave, his hands clawing back at the hair that threatened to fall into the slurry currently being projected from his face. It made him feel infinitely better… in one respect, anyway.

Left empty, he spat the taste out of his mouth before finishing the journey he'd started, finally up his steps to his bed, and collapsing upon it. How had things changed so quickly in an instant? One minute, she was wrapped up in his arms, and the next, she was cursing his name and throwing him out. Over something as simple as his eyes.

But he wasn't about to remove them for some woman. He'd worked too hard and too long to get them, had suffered pain to adapt to them. If she wanted to judge him for it, that was her choice and not something he could fault her for.

It was in the midst of his pondering that his eldest brother poked his head into the room, looking worried as all sin, eyes as wide as the goggles he wore.

"_Hermano, tienes que ir_." A frightened hiss of words that tore him from his thoughts, he sat upright. How much worse could things get tonight?

"_Ellos están buscando para usted . Ellos quieren que usted perderá sus ganancias . Desde el torneo._"

Plenty worse, from the sounds of it.

It seemed Angie had wasted no time on telling the authorities of what she'd discovered, despite having a month pass since he'd won it. He could have accepted her knowing, but to have her use it against him as a weapon? To downplay his efforts because she had built up the lies about him? That was something he couldn't forgive her for. She had betrayed him for her own sense of pride.

"_Tienes que ir. Ahora_!"

"_Donde_?"

"_Hay un lugar … un planeta . Llamado Pandora._"  
He'd never heard of this place before, but it was certainly better than staying here and getting caught, seeing Angie's smug expression when he was caught. They'd do more than lock him up too; the other contestants would likely beat the very shit out of his skinny body.  
Gathering nothing more than a bag, a handful of clothes, his earnings and his rifle, he was out the door before he could really contemplate the fact that he was leaving home, possibly forever. It was unlikely he would see his family ever again, not with the kind of people that would be on his tail.

"_Espera_!" His brother pulled him up into a hug, much taller than the teenager just gracing six feet. He patted his back roughly, whispering in his head.

"Take care of yourself, _pendejo_. You better fill in that chin o' yours with somethin' before you even think o' comin' back." With a rough clout to the back of his head and a rough kiss on his cheek, his brother shoved him down the street, turned on his heel, and headed back inside. He could only delay the authorities for so long before they caught wind that he was leaving.

His life had become a prime example of the domino effect, his life ruined through the simple innocent meeting of a girl who offered up her handkerchief to him. The poppy in her hair, the brightest of reds to match the blood streaming down his nose, had deceived him and killed any dream he had of continuing his life here on Artemis.


End file.
